The Strength of Eris
by Sapphire Warrioress
Summary: Our tale begins in ancient Greece, where a king is forced to make an impossible choice between his family and his honor. This is the history of The Dagger of Discord. Based upon Snapegirlkmf’s excellent story Two Hawks Hunting.
1. Chapter 1 Prologue

_Authoress's note: My thanks to Snapegirlkmf, who gave me permission to write this tale which is based upon her _excellent_ story Two Hawks Hunting, specifically Chapter 18. _

_In that chapter, she deviates from the books by inventing another H_orcrux_ called The Dagger of Discord for Harry and Severus to destroy. Some of the history of this weapon is given, but I thought it would be fun to write a story which goes into more detail._

_Knowledge of Snapegirlkmf's alternate universe in both Broken Wings and Two Hawks would be helpful for reading this story._

_That being said, this is not a fic which takes place in the world of Harry Potter, though there will be references to H P scattered throughout this tale. This is meant to give the dagger which Snapegirlkmf created its own unique history, until the events she has described in Two Hawks Hunting._

_I will cover events from world history and mythology in this fic, so I hope you will have as much fun reading this as I am having writing each installment._

_Comments are always welcome._

_Enjoy._

It was not often that an Olympian felt the need to surrender to the passions which governed humanity. But on this occasion, Eris felt that she was justified in letting herself indulge in an emotion which mortals would equate with joy. Except that this joy was warped and twisted triumph turned to dark exaltation within the essence of a goddess devoted to strife and corruption.

She was ecstatic at the success of her plan, especially because she knew that none on Olympus suspected her true purpose behind making and offering her golden apple as a prize for the fairest amongst the goddesses.

All of her hopes that her cursed apple would cause mischief at the wedding of Peleus had been more than fulfilled. She had not received an invitation, but then again she hadn't expected one either. No one in their right mind would think of inviting a goddess devoted to spreading discord to a marriage celebration, especially when the bride was being bound to a mortal against her will. Her one consolation was that he was of royal birth, and the Moirae had foretold that a son born of this union would be a great warrior.

At first Eris pretended indifference, steadfastly ignoring the other gods' interest that an immortal goddess of the sea was to wed a mortal prince. But as she listened an idea slowly began to take root, and she pretended to be furious. Athena so calm and logical pointed out the reasons why she could hardly be expected to be a guest at this event, while other Olympians cast her looks of incredulity that she should even entertain the hope of being asked. Only Ares remained silent, casting his fellow Olympian a glance in which curiosity and speculation were mingled. She answered it with a quiet smile of satisfaction and an arrogant toss of her luxuriant fiery curls, before picking up an apple from the silver bowl at her right and biting into it hungrily.

Like all deities she had no need for mortal food, but found herself indulging in this pleasure in the faint hope that it might alleviate the monotony of eternity. As she tasted the sweetness of the juice and the crisp flesh, she reflected that an apple would make a wonderful tool of destruction. And in that moment her pretence of anger was set aside as she considered the mischief she might cause at the wedding of this mortal prince.

So she crafted the fruit with patient care, placing at its core a single spark of immortal fire which would lend it a glory and radiance which no mortal or goddess could resist. But mixed with divine fire were the things which made her existence bearable. Envy and malice was always a potent combination, and Eris was sure once her treasure was complete that it would cause trouble which would be spoken of on Olympus for many centuries to come.

She made her entrance while the feast was being served, tossing her golden treasure with careful precision so that it bounced and rolled merrily to the end of the table where the greatest of the gods were seated. All eyes followed its progress, and Eris was pleased to note the look of raw hunger which the bride Thetis cast the apple as it rolled passed her goblet. Many hands reached to claim it, but it was Hermes the swiftest of the gods who finally captured the illusive bobble and held it up to the light. In a clear authoritative voice, he read out the inscription.

"For the fairest." Immediately three goddesses claimed that the apple should be awarded to her alone. Eris couldn't help smiling as the sound of voices raised in anger echoed off the vaulted ceiling. Having three of the most powerful deities quarrel over her treasure was an outcome she hadn't dared to hope would ever happen. Joyfully she drank in their bitterness and envy, savoring it as one would the finest of wines.

Hera seated at Zeus's right glared around at the wedding guests, protesting that as queen she should rightfully claim the apple. Wise Athena calmly pointed out that as she was Zeus's favored daughter and the fairest on Olympus, then only she should have the privilege of accepting the golden fruit. Aphrodite, who represented the passions of men, was the most vocal, arguing that she should be awarded the apple because her beauty was beyond compare.

If Zeus had not parted the three quarreling goddesses, Eris was certain that war would have broken out. Wearily the ruler of the skies declared that a mortal should decide who was the fairest, and chose young Prince Paris of Troy to settle the dispute.

Eris smiled triumphantly, for she had meant the apple to fall into mortal hands, for the outcome was always unpredictable whenever a human was involved. So she watched as Hera, Athena and Aphrodite appeared on Mount Ida, and presented Paris with the choice which would eventually lead to one of the greatest wars ever fought.

With amusement Eris listened as Paris tried to be diplomatic, suggesting that the apple should be divided amongst the three deities. That idea was immediately rejected, as each goddess stepped forward to offer the young prince of Troy bribes.

"Your choice is simple Paris. "Choose me gentle youth, and I will give you great riches and honor." Hera spoke."

Next wise Athena stepped forward to address the prince. "If you choose me son of Priam, I will make you the wisest of all mortals. The kings of the earth will come to you for advice, and bards will sing of your greatness for many ages after your thread is severed." This declaration moved the young prince, and he eagerly stepped forward to place the apple in Athena's outstretched hand.

But like countless mortals before him, Paris had not reckoned on the sheer power Aphrodite's presence always produced. Even the gods knew to tread carefully around her, for beneath that radiant beauty was a cruel and vindictive goddess who enjoyed using her power to cause mischief amongst gods and mortals alike.

The goddess stepped forward to stand beside Athena. Divine and mortal gazes locked, and Paris found that he could not look away as the goddess spoke to him in a voice which held the promise of passion.

"If you will give me the apple mortal prince, then I will reward you with the most beautiful woman on earth for your consort. Only I can offer you such pleasure."

Eris had hoped that this mortal would be able to summon some resistance to the fair goddess's charms. But it was not to be. Scarcely had Aphrodite finished her final sentence before the young prince of Troy let the apple fall into her hands. Eris did not stay to witness Hera and Athena's anger; instead she fled back to her realm, her keen mind turning over a dozen scenarios that could occur because of the prince's hasty judgment.

But beneath her speculation lay an unfamiliar emotion, one which it took her a few moments to identify as dissatisfaction. No longer was she content with causing mischief amongst mortals and do what she was born to do. Eris did not possess the gift of foresight, but she sensed that what had just happened on Mount Ida would be the catalyst for an event which would be remembered for untold centuries.  
She craved that glory and place of power in the minds of men.

A cold smile played about the fair goddess's lips as she considered the possibilities. Her strengths were the fields of war and conflict, the breakings of friendships and quarrels which led to misery and pain. What then could she create that would embody all that she was, something so powerful that it would endure long after the worship of her divine brethren passed into the realms of legend?

With an ease born of many centuries, Eris stilled her thoughts, seeking that state of mind where ideas are born from silence. This was a depth of focus which humanity and immortals alike struggled to attain, for from it came the creative imaginings which helped to shape the thoughts and destinies of empires. And as Eris had hoped one single thought emerged, fashioned from the things which lay at the very core of her essence.

She would forge a dagger, one deceptively decorative and beautiful, and yet it would possess the power to forever alter the fates of mankind through subtle seduction. No mortal fire lit at a peasant's hearth would help her fulfill this desire, for those flames served merely as a means to live in comfort, to cook food or fashion the tools for peace or war.

She dared not seek out the current abode of Hephaestus either, for he would be far too curious about her reasons for using his tools to say nothing of the strength of flame he so effortlessly commanded. No she would not seek out the forge of Hephaestus; instead she would do her work at the hearth of ultimate power, where the forces which governed the world met in counsel. Olympus.

She chose her moment carefully, waiting until Hestia was absent and the throne room of Olympus lay empty. Only then did she dare to approach and lay her small hoard of gold upon the smooth stones of the hearth. Few knew of the power this place could bestow, indeed she suspected that only Zeus was acquainted with the ancient secrets which sacred fire held. The truth that it fed and absorbed whatever an immortal willed it to accept, so that anything forged within it would be imbued with those emotions and would answer to that deity's prompting alone.

With great care Eris focused her power upon the glowing heap of metal, molding it to her will with a soft word of command. As the heat grew more intense, she poured all of her malice and cruelty, every memory of bloody conflict and senseless killing that she had known over the millennia of her existence into the molten gold. Excitement coursed through her as she worked, and gladly she added the sound of her voice to the music of flame. Rich, low and glorious, the notes became interwoven with the goddess's thoughts, until it could not be said where one ended and the other began.

Whatever the answer it was music of pure darkness which was composed in that hour, a melody of awful majesty where the virtues of friendship and loyalty inevitably bowed to the will of darkness and devoured the hollow pain of blood innocence forever corrupted. None who heard her song would be able to resist, for it called to that part of the soul which so many fought to deny or forget. The unacknowledged desires which grew ultimately into the rending of friendships and blood spilt in rage.

Eris had decided when first she conceived this plan, that her voice would be inextricably woven with the purpose of the dagger. Even when she was no longer worshiped, or her name faded into obscurity, she would still live on in this object, a dark siren ever ready to lure any who crossed the dagger's path to destruction.

The final step of her plan was in many ways the most difficult, for it required her to trap a spark of sacred fire at the dagger's core. With slow and precise movements Eris reached into the very heart of the fire where the hottest flames were born. A moment later her hand emerged from the flames, a single brilliant spark grasped possessively in the slender fingers. At her bidding it sped towards the dagger, which trembled as if in some twisted mockery of a lover's caress as it merged with the cooling gold. Eris smiled in relief, knowing that the dagger would guard that spark well brought her comfort, for she had no desire to share the fate of Prometheus if Zeus should discover what she had done.

But there was one final thing which this golden dagger, tempered and strengthened in sacred fire still required to make it complete. With great care Eris set into the hilt a flawless ruby which she had taken from the kingdom of Hades. It was right that a tool meant for destruction should be born of materials taken from the realm of the dead. The ruby had been a wonderful find, for it had been taken from deep within the earth which had nurtured the pomegranate that had forever bound Persephone by trickery to her dread lord. Eris had immediately grasped the significance such a jewel would lend her creation, for any object with such a powerful history would help to increase the dagger's power to effortlessly seduce and tempt an innocent into darkness.

With her task complete, Eris's thoughts turned to wondering who should receive the dagger. There were many possibilities, but at last she settled on Agamemnon the powerful king of Mycenae. Yes he would be a warrior more than worthy of the gift of this blade.

Her course set, she descended from Olympus, cloaking her true form in the guise of a young widow before approaching the gates of Mycenae. With practiced ease she mingled with the crowds in the agora, until she spotted Agamemnon dismounting his horse.

Approaching him Eris greeted the young king courteously, and launched into the story she had prepared.

"My lord king, I've traveled many days to find you. My husband served in your army for seven years, and came back to me after he had done his duty to you and the kingdom. But not long after his return he was stricken with fever, and two weeks ago he was called to Hades' realm. He asked that I present this dagger to you as a token of his loyalty and respect, for he always said that no soldier could ever ask for a greater commander or king to serve."

Moved by her story, Agamemnon reached out to take the cloth wrapped bundle from the stranger, offering his sympathy for her loss. Carefully he withdrew the dagger, admiring its balance and exquisite workmanship, and noting with practiced ease the care that this warrior had taken with his weapon.

Eris immediately felt the dagger stir as if it recognized that here was its first victim. And no wonder, for the house of Atreus bore a curse which stretched back over many generations, to the time when Tantalos sought to trick the gods into eating the body of his only son. Mortal eyes would not be able to glimpse the weight of the curse which rested upon the young monarch, but to Eris it was plainly visible. Strands of ancient power were intertwined with this mortal's destiny so thoroughly that she knew he would have much work to do to keep from offending the gods. As she looked into Agamemnon's eyes, Eris could see the knowledge of great responsibility and suffering within the cool gaze of this warrior, and wondered that a mortal could bare such a dark curse with such grace and dignity. Now it was even more potent, for the dagger's essence had at once woven itself with the power of Atreus's curse, thus tripling an already heavy burden.

Thanking this stranger for honoring her husband's request, Agamemnon returned to his palace, unaware that he bore a weapon which would forever change the fates of countless mortals. He could not know that it was destined to play a part in the shattering of friendships, and the ruin of great kingdoms.

Nor could he know that many ages hence this seemingly innocent dagger would become a means to keep death at bay. It would be sought and wielded by a youth born to command the darker magics, who was destined to become the most feared of his people. Until the day when two souls marked by darkness, both skilled in the arts of war and magic found the strength and courage to destroy Eris's accursed gift to humanity.


	2. Chapter 2 Agamemnon's Choice

_Authoress's note: Thanks for the awesome reviews; I hope you will enjoy this chapter as much as the prologue. This chapter is based on Euripides' play Iphigenia In Aulis, as it offers a very human portrayal of Agamemnon's struggles which I think would fit with the suffering the dagger is destined to cause._

_Whenever possible I hope to base chapters concerning legends on ancient sources like Homer or Ovid._

_For any readers _who_ are interested in mythology, I've a couple of stories which you might enjoy._

_My apologies for the formatting of those stories, I'm in the process of going back and reediting my fics, so errors in grammar and paragraph structure will eventually be corrected. _

_Chain of Sorrows: A series of one-shots focusing on characters from classical legends, based on sources like The Homeric Hymn to Demeter and The Orphic Hymns. I've many character _sketches_ in mind for that story._

_Let Me Know Your Face: My retelling of the myth of Semele, based on Handel's opera named for the ancient Theban princess and sources like Ovid and Homer._

_Or if you're looking for something unique, I've also posted a fic based on some characters from C. S. Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia. It's a story which explores the origins and mythology of Tash and the other gods of Calormene, Narnia's ancient enemy. Lewis told us very little about these gods, so I thought I'd have fun coming up with a story for them. It's based on Greek, Norse and some Egyptian and Celtic concepts._

_I hope you enjoy this chapter and would appreciate any feedback._

_Thanks for reading._

The fire had long since died down to a few glowing embers, and the feast set before Agamemnon still remained untouched. Servants sent to see if the commander of the Greek armies required anything were briskly dismissed, and knowing that his temper was formidable they hastily returned to their other duties.

Agamemnon took little notice of their departure, as he paced restlessly trying to discover another way to placate Artemis without losing the respect he had fought so long to earn from his warriors. How had it come to this, this terrible choice he was forced to make. And how by all the gods was he going to find a way to extricate himself from this impossible situation?

Never in his wildest imaginings could he have pictured a day like the one he had just endured. It had begun like countless others spent at the port of Aulis. As usual he took his morning meal with the soldiers, enjoying the rare privilege of sharing stories and battle tactics with the young warriors and reminiscing with the men who had fought in many battles under his command. It was one of those rare occasions where he could be just another simple warrior, instead of a king struggling to shoulder the crushing burden of a century's old family curse and the responsibilities of his kingdom.

Only Clytaemnestra knew of his secret desire, to live a life uncomplicated by the brooding weight of his ancestors' wrongs where he could once again be just another soldier. Indeed he suspected that his queen knew far too much about his past, particularly the events leading up to their wedding. She had never outright said so, but sometimes he caught her watching him with a look which bordered on hatred. And for one of the few times since he became king, Agamemnon was afraid, for he knew none better what Clytaemnestra was capable of if pushed too far. It was these nameless fears which prompted him to never be without a weapon, and somewhat to his surprise it was the dagger he had received from a young widow which he selected as his weapon of choice. It was slender and decorative, a weapon which many would automatically dismiss as unfit for battle. But Agamemnon knew that it was a deadly weapon, surprisingly strong and capable of inflicting fatal damage.

As usual he had taken a walk along the shore at the breaking of dawn, gazing hopefully out to sea for even the slightest sign that the winds were about to change. For only then could he sail to Troy and help his brother to reclaim his wife. But as on every other occasion, the water was maddeningly calm. Frustrated Agamemnon returned to his quarters, only to be told that the old prophet wished to speak with him on an urgent matter. Suspecting that his friend was about to suggest yet another sacrifice or some other ritual meant to win a god's favor, Agamemnon ordered that Calchas be admitted.

Nothing could have prepared him for the message his friend bore, in fact for one of the few times in his life the king of Mycenae was speechless as he listened to the words of the seer.

"Calchas, you have served me well and I consider you a close friend, but what you are proposing is sacrilege."

"Not I Agamemnon, it is the will of Artemis that your daughter should be sacrificed. Don't you want to set sail for Troy soon?"

"Of course I do. We've been waiting here for weeks for the winds to change in our favor. But I cannot do what you command. You know better than anyone the gods' anger against those who perform human sacrifice. And need I remind you that I already carry the weight of my ancestors' wrongs which I have little hope of settling. To add the death of my Iphigenia to all that would be madness. I have always honored the gods, but I know none better the cost of offending them, and human sacrifice will surely invite their wroth. No old friend I cannot do this. You must find another way."

And so it went for over an hour, until Agamemnon finally relented, knowing that if he did not comply then the Greek armies would never set sail for Ilium.

Still he hesitated, for he also had a duty to his brother. The breaking of Xenia should never be taken lightly, and what the young prince of Troy had done was an offense not only to his brother but to Zeus as well. For a moment he wondered why the ruler of the gods had not intervened to prevent Artemis's stern decree, for surely he did not desire the spilling of an innocent mortal's blood. It would only serve to add yet more sorrow and the threat of retribution from the Erinyes to a house which was already suffering under the crushing weight of guilt.

Unless.

The young monarch stopped his restless pacing, as he considered the idea which had just occurred to him. It was a bold plan, and he knew that eventually he would make a full confession to his fiery Clytaemnestra, but it was the only way he could think of getting his daughter to Aulis.

Reluctantly he fetched the necessary materials and slowly began to write. Every word was carefully considered before being set down, for he wanted no hint of his true feelings or intentions to make its way into this letter. Clytaemnestra was a perceptive woman, and if she suspected even the slightest hint of trickery then all was lost.

Summoning a messenger the king held out the sealed scroll. "Take this message to my wife with all speed. Tell her that I have chosen Achilles to wed our daughter Iphigenia before we sail for Troy. Say that it is my command that she come to Aulis on the fastest ship available, and that she will assist our daughter in preparing for the proper ceremonies." Nodding the servant departed, smiling at the prospect of his master's daughter receiving the honor of being joined to Achilles. .

Agamemnon turned back to the dying fire, gazing at the flames with such concentration that it was as if he sought the answer to his dilemma in their depths. If only there was a way which didn't involve the sacrifice of his eldest child, the daughter he had loved from the moment Clytaemnestra had placed her into his arms. Surely there was another way to win the favor of Artemis. Perhaps if he were to send out the best hunters to seek an appropriate sacrifice, or go himself to bring down a quarry worthy of the goddess of the wild. But even as these thoughts formed, he knew it would do no good.

He was dreading the confrontation with Clytaemnestra, for she would have every right to be angry and resent what he had done to make sure she brought their daughter to Aulis. It was a cruel trick, and no doubt Clytemnestra would be furious with him for his deception, but it was the only way he could think of to appease the warriors under his command. If only word of the old prophet's prediction had not spread to the whole army, things might have been different.

He recalled his first sight of Clytaemnestra, a proud and fierce woman determined to remain strong in the midst of her sorrow, to do her duty to her people and make sure that her husband's kingdom was left in good hands before she married the charismatic Agamemnon. How he had courted her with all the skill of the most devoted lover, promising her wealth and the warmth of his embrace if she would only consent to become his consort. Those long ago nights, when he had lain awake wishing that she was sharing his bed, and the plans he had made in secret to make sure she would soon rule at his side.

Theirs had never been a marriage based on mutual affection, or even friendship, but a match made out of duty and the joining of two souls who shared a love of power. The birth of Iphigenia had brought fleeting moments of joy and contentment, for they both loved the child and did their best to show her the strength of their affection.

With weary resignation Agamemnon realized that his thoughts had come full circle. And he had come no closer to discovering a way to satisfy Artemis and the warriors who looked to him for guidance. For a moment his resolve faltered, and he wondered if he shouldn't simply act as a father would to prevent this tragedy and openly defy Artemis's command.

Could he perhaps send another letter, telling Clytemnestra the true reason for his summons? Excited by this prospect he immediately took up another quill and scroll, and in a few hasty lines explained the situation to his queen. Calling for a servant, he asked that the message be taken to his wife with all possible speed.

Afterwards he would often wonder if it wasn't the work of Artemis, or merely the whims of chance which prompted his young brother to cross the messenger's path. Whatever the reason, it wasn't long before he was confronted by a furious ruler of Sparta. Brandishing a very familiar scroll

"Brother, would you care to explain this letter?"

Furious at being discovered, Agamemnon automatically tried to defend his actions. "I do not answer to you, little brother. And is it always your practice to open and read the personal correspondents of your family?"

"I know you too well Agamemnon. You are an honorable commander and ruler, but in this situation you have no choice but to do as the goddess demands. There is no other way, you heard what Calchas said. I'm sorry that it has to be your daughter, but without her sacrifice we can never set sail, and I will never bring Helen back to Greece. Do you care so little for our family's honor that you would ruin our chances for victory?"

"Look around you brother. Wasn't I the one who summoned so many of Helen's old suitors to fulfill their oath? You would never have been able to gather so many skilled soldiers so quickly if I hadn't sent out my messengers requesting this gathering at Aulis. You have no right to make such an accusation.

What if it were your Hermione who had been chosen instead? Wouldn't you do all in your power to save her?

"I - -that's hardly relevant. Iphigenia was selected, and regardless of what you or I want the goddess must be placated. Brother there is nothing worse than a commander ruled by fear and doubt. Our warriors need a leader who will act with honor, not a father determined to save his child. It's a good thing I intercepted this letter, because if word of this message reached our army you would lose all the respect you have worked so hard to gain."

Menelaus reached to lay a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder. "I wish that it had never come to this. Why our family has always been cursed by the Moirae to endure such hardship I have never been able to understand. And it isn't right that you should bare the weight of our ancestors' crimes, and make this impossible choice between honor or the life of your child. I wish now that I had never asked for your help in retrieving Helen."

"I could hardly refuse your request. What Paris did was a deliberate breaking of Xenia and couldn't be ignored. I will always come to your aid whenever you need me Menelaus, you know that."

The king of Sparta nodded, acknowledging the truth of his brother's statement. It had always been so, even when they were children. Whenever anyone spoke ill of the quiet Menelaus, who preferred the philosophers and scribes to the company of soldiers, it was Agamemnon who immediately sprang to defend his brother.

Menelaus continued. "What on earth possessed you to write a second letter? Surely you realized it could be intercepted?"

"I have one word for that. Clytaemnestra."

Menelaus nodded, understanding all too well what his brother meant by that remark. "It's a thousand pities she wasn't born a man. Gods what a general she would make, I can just picture her leading soldiers into battle sword at the ready to defend her kin and homeland.

You chose her well my brother. Few kings could ask for a more worthy consort."

For a moment Agamemnon let himself recall the months of his courtship, when all of his will and intellect was focused on winning the sister of fair Helen. He had been captivated by this proud and beautiful woman, who bowed to no one and possessed a warrior's soul. It was only after their marriage that he had discovered Clytaemnestra could be just as cunning and ruthless as he. Many were the times where she had defeated him in a contest of wits, and though he would never admit it she had been the one to find quick and intelligent answers too many of the more complex problems which plagued his kingdom.

Even in military matters she had become his equal, determined to prove that she was just as capable as any man of forming deadly strategies. This was why he was dreading the confrontation to come, for Clytaemnestra had a tongue as sharp as a sword which she wielded with all the skill of an accomplished warrior.

Menelaus's next comment brought the king of Mycenae back to the present with a start. "At least you'll still have Orestes. Be thankful you weren't commanded to sacrifice him instead since he will succeed you as king." His brother's words brought Agamemnon little solace, for he was wondering how he would explain to his headstrong queen the necessity of his trick and the sacrifices she must make for the honor of Greece. His fingers idly toyed with the hilt of the dagger a widow had given him what felt like centuries ago in Mycenae, and he once again felt his resolve harden as he recognized the sense in his brother's arguments. By now everyone in Aulis knew of the part his daughter must play, and if he wanted to reclaim his family's honor and set sail for Ilium than the sacrifice must be made.

His musings were abruptly cut short by the entrance of a servant. "My lord, Queen Clytaemnestra and your daughter have just arrived."

"Bring them to me directly, and inform Iphigenia that I will speak with her as soon as I've talked with her mother. See that we are not disturbed." Nodding the servant departed, and Menelaus offered his brother an encouraging smile before taking his leave.

The king of Mycenae retook his seat, steeling himself for what he must do, wishing once again that there was another way to placate the goddess Artemis without spilling innocent blood. All he could do now was wait, and hope that Clytaemnestra would see reason and bow to the will of the Moirae.


	3. Chapter 3 The Price of Honor

The horses were the best that the stables could offer Mycenae's queen, purchased so it was said from the far Eastern lands of the desert. As she rode swiftly through the crowded streets, Clytemnestra revelled in the power and grace of the ebony horses, calling out to their driver to urge them to greater speed. Since her marriage she had found little time for riding, and so determined to indulge herself for as long as she was able. In her homeland she had become a familiar sight, a princess who challenged every convention and whenever possible dared to break with tradition. Many had caught glimpses of her astride the fastest horse in her father's stables, dark hair streaming out behind her and her face alight with pleasure. For a moment sorrow rose up within Agamemnon's consort, as she reflected sadly that such carefree days were now nothing but cherished memories.

She had known little of the price duty demanded, or how death could take from rich and poor alike a man she had counted as both a husband and friend. Her first consort, he who gave her the little son who had died under circumstances which she had always thought were suspicious. She would never forget the weight of his cooling body as she prepared her child for the funeral rites, refusing to let any save her trusted servants assist with the preparations. Many had whispered in the following months that their queen was forever changed, for her confidence and fiery spirit had been shaken by the sorrows which the Moirae had seen fit to send the sister of famed Helen.

Scarcely two months after her family's death another prince had come to court her, and so indifferent was she to her fate that she readily accepted. It was only after her marriage that she realized her mistake, for Agamemnon's interest in her did not extend beyond the pleasure she gave him in their bedchamber, and the occasional evening when she ignored protocol and offered her opinions concerning the running of their kingdom. Her observations were always cut short, with curt admonishments to please keep such comments to herself, and to take interest only in matters of court gossip, or making provision for any guests under their roof according to the sacred custom of Xenia.

The birth of Iphigenia had helped to dull the sharp pangs of loss which had never diminished with the passage of years. Indeed it burned as fiercely as the hatred she bore for Agamemnon, and her thoughts of vengeance for the life he had so ruthlessly stolen. She could not know that soon all of her secret prayers would be granted, nor the terrible cost which vengeance would demand.

The queen of Mycenae was so absorbed in her thoughts that she scarcely noticed when the chariot came to a jarring halt within a pillared courtyard. Iphigenia glanced anxiously at her mother, troubled by the glimpses of sorrow and bitter regret which she caught whenever her mother thought she wasn't looking. They had always enjoyed a close friendship, indeed the young princess suspected that she alone was privileged to glimpse a side of Clytemnestra which few ever saw. She recalled fondly the many nights when her mother had sat at her bedside, sharing with her fascinating stories from many lands, and the way she had always kept vigil at her daughter's side whenever she was ill. It was to her mother that Iphigenia confided her struggles and hopes for the future, and her wish that she might someday be granted the honour of meeting one of the great heroes of her people. Never would she have imagined that she was to see that desire fulfilled, for to be joined to Achilles was something which many a princess would do anything to achieve.

Automatically she reached for her mother's hand, nervous and needing reassurance that all would be well. Clytemnestra offered her daughter an encouraging nod, before preparing to dismount.

To her astonishment it was no servant who stepped forward to assist her, but the tall form of Achilles himself. Determined to honour Agamemnon's choice, Clytemnestra nodded to her future son in law graciously, and smiled to see her daughter offer the great warrior a respectful courtsy.

"Greetings to you son of Peleus. I look forward to the day when the house of Atreus will be joined to yours. My daughter is eager to make your acquaintance."

Achilles stared at the queen of Mycenae in astonishment.

"There must be some mistake my lady. I have never courted your daughter, and I no nothing of this wedding of which you speak."

"I don't understand," Clytemnestra murmured distractedly. "Agamemnon wrote to me saying that he had made arrangements for our daughter to wed you before the army set sail for Troy. I have the scroll here if you'd care to read it."

Nodding Achilles accepted the letter and quickly scanned the brief contents. Confusion soon gave way to anger, tempered by pity for the cruel trick which Agamemnon had played upon his wife and daughter. Horror swept through the proud son of Thetis, for he thought he knew very well the reason behind Agamemnon's cruel trick.

"If my lady would allow me a few moments, I believe I can answer that question. There is something I think you aught to know. Every Greek warrior in Aulis knows by now of your arrival, and I know the true reason you were summoned here."

"Speak then Achilles, for I would be glad of any information you could give."

As Achilles told his tale, Clytemnestra once again felt rage against her husband begin to well up afresh. Long accustomed to such anger, she forced it down, knowing that it would not do her or Iphigenia any good to confront her consort until she could act rationally. Achilles saw the strong features harden into a cool mask of determination, and almost felt sorry for the experienced general. Almost, for even he would never have considered sacrificing family for the sake of power and glory.

In years to come, when the day's battle had been hard and sleep remained illusive, as he encamped before the walls of Troy, it was the remembrance of Clytemnestra confronting him at Aulis which could always bring a smile to Agamemnon's face. Indeed the first word which came to mind as he looked upon his queen was magnificent. Eyes alight with fury and the promise of vengeance, she looked like one of the terrifying Erinyes as she thrust his letter into his hand. He had expected a hysterical distraught mother, overcome with grief at the news she had just received.

What he got instead was a queen determined to discover the truth.

"Husband, I have endured much as your wife, but never would I have thought you capable of such a cruel trick. If it weren't for Achilles I would never have known about your true intentions."

"I did try to write another letter telling you the truth, but Menelaus intercepted it."

"Well at least you tried to send me word".

"Listen to me. It was the only way I could think of to bring you and Iphigenia to Aulis. The army is eager to sail to Troy. I spent more than an hour with Calchas trying to find another way to placate Artemis, but in the end I had no choice but to agree."

"I might have known conquest would be your reason behind this trick. Tell me husband, is restoring the honour of Greece so important to you that you would sacrifice your own child? Do you care so little for me that you would so casually sacrifice her for the sake of power and glory? And don't say that I still have Orestes because that doesn't comfort me in the least. Not after what you did to my first husband and our baby. Ah you thought I didn't know about that, I learned soon after our marriage. Why I've remained faithful to you all these years is beyond me. But I've more than fulfilled my duty to you as a wife, bore you children and ruled at your side. And still you want to kill Iphigenia. Have you ever thought of what that would do to me. How I curse that ridiculous oath my sisters' suitors took. If it weren't for her and Odysseus's supposed brilliant ideas this situation would never have happened.

What of Iphigenia? Have you thought about her part in this, and how we are going to tell her that for the sake of Greece's honour and men's accursed need for glory and recognition she must become a willing sacrifice?"

At last Agamemnon held up a hand for silence. "Do you think this is easy for me? For hours I tried to think of a way to spare our daughter's life. I even considered defying Artemis's command knowing that our armies wouldn't be able to claim victory at Troy. But when Menelaus intercepted my second message to you, he told me that all of our warriors know of Calchas's prophecy." Any further objections his queen might have made were silenced by the entrance of Iphigenia. Unnoticed the young princess had entered the megaron, drawn by the sound of raised voices. At first she was filled with horror as she learned the true reason behind her father's summons. But as she listened to her parents argue over her fate, the young princess determined that she would make the final decision concerning her destiny. Nor was she alone, for Achilles curious about how Agamemnon was going to explain his actions to his queen had accompanied Iphigenia.

Now he stepped forward, determined to say what he thought of such unnecessary sacrifice.

"As one of the warriors under your command, I too am eager for battle. But I refuse to have anything to do with this affair, unless Highness you wish me to aid your daughter?" Clytemnestra faltered; tempted by the offer of help from such a renowned warrior. Surely he could thwart her husband's plans, or at the very least help her smuggle Iphigenia away from Aulis before anyone suspected their purpose.

But in her heart she already knew the bitter truth, one which she shrank from admitting, though in the end she was forced to acknowledge its implacable voice. No mortal could hope to challenge the gods. Countless stories were told of those who had dared, and all had ended in disaster and sorrow. She wished that it was permitted for humanity to demand answers from the immortals who governed their destinies, to question why it was their right alone to inflict suffering and pain upon the inhabitants of the earth who were faithful in their worship.

"Mother," Iphigenia's voice abruptly cut short Clytemnestra's bitter reflections. "if by my death I might restore the honour of our family and our land, then I will pay the price with gladness." The words were brave, and yet all present heard the tremor in the young voice, and saw how the slender fingers grasped her mother's hand for comfort and encouragement.

Mycenae's queen drew her daughter into a desperate embrace, as love warred against pride within her shattered heart. At that moment she saw no longer a child, but a true daughter of kings prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of her people.

Would that my own sister had learned a similar lesson, to count the cost of her own pleasure against the lives of brave men bound by oath to defend her honour. For the thousandth time the queen of Mycenae wondered why such laws were given by the immortals, for they often led to much sorrow and pain when taken to such extreme lengths. Nor did it help that men who followed the path of the warrior were trained to uphold their honour at any cost.

Turning to face her daughter, Clytemnestra smiled bravely, determined to make sure that her daughter's final memories of her mother would be ones of strength and affection.

"Very well. Go then and prepare for the sacrifice, and know that I love you and will miss you until we meet again in the underworld."

Two hours later Clytemnestra watched as some of Greece's finest warriors escorted her daughter to the sacred grove where the sacrifice would take place. She could not bring herself to follow the procession of warriors, but she held the gaze of her daughter for as long as she was able until Iphigenia passed beyond her sight. Behind her came Agamemnon, grim and silent as she had seen him a thousand times before when called to war. In that moment his queen hated Agamemnon anew for the courage she lacked. But as the final warrior marched through the gates, she vowed by all she held sacred that one day she would take her revenge for the life of her daughter. Even if she must wait ten years, she would never forget this day. This she swore by the goddess Nemesis.

_Authoress's note: Sorry for the delay on this chapter, but the past couple of months have been stressful, as a close friend of the family has recently passed away. I've found time to work on other fics, but this chapter turned out to be a difficult one to write._

_For readers interested in mythology, I've recently updated my retelling of Semele's legend, called Let Me Know Your Face, as well as my other Greek mythology tale called Chain of Sorrows._

_And for the people reading this who enjoy Snapegirlkmf's stories, I'm going to post a fic based on her excellent story Moon Fire._

_So look for it on my page in a few days, it will be called Let The Night Begin._

_I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter and would love to know what you think of the story so far._


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